imber
by vapanalley
Summary: /SoulxMaka/ One day, the sun didn't come out after the rain. Maka is sick of the weather like she is sick of the war and how she is sick of stale bread and canned soup...


A/N: This has so many tense errors I don't even know. Some of it intentional. Of course.

Disclaimer: SE belongs to its rightful owners. Durp.

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><p>One day, the sun didn't come out after the rain.<p>

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><p>Maka was making her way home with a brown paper parcel slipped under her bulky coat through a fine mist of water droplets. The air was humid and muggy and breathing was like taking cotton into her lungs.<p>

She quickened her strides, but made sure her back was straight and her eyes were looking just a little above the ground and a little below the horizon so she couldn't make eye contact should anyone walk by.

No one walked by.

When she finally made it home, she slipped the half of loaf of bread she had bartered for into her perpetually half empty shelf of food. These days, the shelf of food was never full.

The War against Insanity was taking a toll on every industry in Death City and nothing savory or terribly flavorful was made anymore. All resources went to the front lines and the weapons and meisters heading the attacks.

Maka went to bed with hair still damp from her walk home and she huddled in her covers and made empty promises to herself.

Tomorrow will be better, she chanted over and over again.

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><p>It's still raining the next day.<p>

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><p>Maka wakes up to Soul's large palms and long fingers running down her sides and sliding against the skin under her night gown. His hands are warm in the chill of the morning air and his breath is hot as he skims his sharp teeth against the sensitive skin under her breasts. Heat pools somewhere below her belly and Maka groans.<p>

"Hey, love muffin." Soul says. His bare torso and uncovered arms hover over her and instead of feeling stifled by his proximity, Maka only feels warm.

"Hey." Maka says with a sleepy smile. She turns her head to glance out her window and sees only dark gray clouds and muddy puddles pooling outside her building. She decides to stay in bed all day today.

"We're not going to be late for anything are we?" Soul asks. His lips twist into an ironic smile and Maka shakes her head with a sad smile playing on her own lips.

"No. We aren't."

One hand splays across Maka's side and one hand slips up along her inner thigh.

* * *

><p>The only color she has seen in the longest time is the red of Soul's eyes.<p>

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><p>It's been raining for weeks on end.<p>

Sometimes, it's a pounding rain that sounds like it's bordering on hail. Black droplets splash against her windows and bash against the roof of her building so hard and so loud that Maka is afraid that the old building she is living in won't last another minute under the on slaughter. Other times, the rain is a find mist that is perpetually dampening anyone that dares walk out of their home. It's always wet and Maka takes to wearing Soul's old jackets outside because he can't be bothered to leave the house.

"I'm frail and weak against the cold. I'll just warm you up when you come back." He says with his trademark grin tugging at his lips. He winks at her and Maka can only sputter and blush back at him.

She is making breakfast one morning when she feels his hands knead at the stiff muscles in her neck. She is trying to make a meal out of a few slices of stale bread and a scraggly strip of chicken meat. Breakfasts of eggs and bacon are almost like a dream.

"You're so tense."

His big hands slide down her shoulder blades and tease the straps of her bra. Then she feels his fingers slip along her back to come to rest at her hips. He traces idle circles along her hip bones and Maka turns to glare at him.

"Stop distracting me." Maka chides. She can almost imagine the thin strip of chicken burning on the pan, and she had taken so long to wrangle a flame out of the can of propane under the stove. Soul sighs and his chin is a steady weight at her shoulder as his arms wrap around her waist.

Maka ends up toasting the already stale bread in the juices of the chicken. It's not much, but she scarfs it down for fear it might be her only meal of the day.

"Are you going to have anything?" Maka asks Soul. His eyes are the brightest ruby red in the drab grays and browns of their living room.

"Nah, you need to eat more than I do."

"Are you calling me fat?" Maka asks with a scowl. Actually, it's less of a question than an angry accusation, but Soul just shrugs and smiles disarmingly. He opens his arms and Maka sighs before standing up from the rickety chair at their dinner table and walking over to him.

His arms wrap around her and his lips press against the crown of her hair. Maka worries about the fact that she hasn't showered in days. (There just hasn't been the water in the plumbing system for it.) But Soul doesn't seem to mind as he hums an aimless tune.

"Tomorrow will be better." He says into her hair and his voice is muffled, but she can still hear him clearly enough.

Maka tilts her head up and kisses Soul with passion she feels like the world has lost. The world is just gray and brown and boring black, but Soul is vibrant (red, lively, alive). He kisses back and it's hungry and fierce.

They barely make it to the couch before Soul is sliding a hand down Maka's side and slipping a hand under her shirt to press against her ribs. His lips move down from her lips to her hipbone and he kisses the skin stretched taught over each one.

"You need to eat more. You're going to get even flatter." Soul says with a smirk. Maka looks down at him and almost growls, but Soul is slipping down her jogging pants and kissing her inner thighs sweetly like an apology.

Maka groans and arches off the coach.

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><p>It's been raining for <em>months.<em>

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><p>Maka is sick of the weather like she is sick of the war and how she is sick of stale bread and canned soup. She is sick of the rationing of food and the curfews and she is sick of staying inside.<p>

Soul sees her off with a sad smile as he leans against the door jab watching Maka prepare to leave the house.

"Are you sure you want to go out?" He asks and he sounds lost and sad.

"I have to. I'm running out of food and I'm running out of…out of things to burn." She finishes quietly.

Maka had started burning encyclopedias and dictionaries (and books) under her stove after she had run out of propane and burnable things. She had taken to eating her canned food cold because she couldn't bear to burn more of her reading material than she had to. Of course, it wasn't like she didn't have those encyclopedias and dictionaries memorized at this point. She had been stuck inside for too long.

He pauses to look at her as if _he_ wanted to memorize her features. His gaze was intense, carefully scrutinizing her as if he might lose her at any moment. Maka looks back with the same intensity and it feels like she's leaving for good. She takes in his white, white hair and his red, red eyes and how alive he looks in his comfy blue jeans with the fraying ends at each leg. His feet are bare and she always asks if he's cold. He always laughs off her worries and encourages her to wear his socks instead. She takes in his plain white t-shirt that has been washed so many times that it's almost sheer. She can see his heart beating and the wiry muscles of his arms and torso. She is familiar with the way he has filled out during the War and she can almost feel his skin under her fingertips despite standing a room apart. The War has been long and Maka is tired. Maybe if it ends, she and Soul can finally walk under the sun together.

But then she remembers the sun hasn't been out in months.

"Okay." He offers her a careful smile. It's like he knows something she doesn't.

"I'm coming back." Maka says as she smoothes the ends of her black scarf down her front. She's standing in front of the door and Soul is at her side looking at her forlornly.

Soul just makes an agreeable noise in his throat and reaches out to redo the knot she had tied into her scarf.

He kisses the crown of her head sweetly and smiles at her with his special grin tugging across his lips. As she walks out of the door, Maka turns and catches a glimpse of him on the coach sitting very, very still. Soul turns his head as if drawn by her gaze and his lips move but no sound comes out.

_I love you_, he seems to mouth and Maka sends a fleeting smile back at him and mouths back her own words, _I know_.

* * *

><p>It's only gotten colder and wetter outside.<p>

* * *

><p>Tsubaki looked different. She looked tougher as she stood under a tin roof barely held up by rotting wooden walls.<p>

Maka saw people moving inside the broken down shack Tsubaki stood in front of and she stopped to stare.

Tsubaki had taken to binding up her breasts and her hands were wrapped with white bandages. Her shirt had tight sleeves, and was tucked into baggy black pants. A thick belt circled Tsubaki's waist. Her lower legs were also wrapped with white bandages and she was wearing dirty looking ankle boots laced up neatly. She was dressed in all black and her face looked like a pale shadow hovering outside of the shack. Her hands were behind her in pose that told anyone watching that she was military personnel.

Her hair was still tied up in a pony tail.

Maka began to move and before she knew it she had crossed the street and was standing next to Tsubaki.

"H—how…did you get here?"

"Maka?" Tsubaki turned her head slightly to glance at her old classmate.

"Yeah. It's me."

"We're on leave. Black Star is inside bartering for some rations. It's getting tough out on the battle field, and the higher ups think we should probably get one last chance to go home before we go to Hell. Everyone gets a chance to come home, squad by squad. Some people don't have homes to go to though."

Tsubaki laughed a little and it sounded nothing like a sound the girl she used to be would make. Her laugh was still high and sweet, but now there was something bitter and ironic about her laugh too. Maka tried to think about what was different. World weary, or perhaps cynical, Maka thought to herself.

"Oh." Maka said aloud.

Tsubaki made an affirmative noise that sounded distinctly nasal. She tilted her head to look at Maka again.

"How've you been doing?" She asked politely and a shadow of the sweet girl she used to be seemed to flicker across her face. Maka remembered disastrous shopping trips and giggly sleep-over's and _happier times_.

"Not much. Soul won't come out of the house with me, so I'm doing all the shopping. Want to come over for one last dinner?"

Tsubaki went still. So still that Maka was afraid that something bad had happened. There was a silence between them for a few moments before a crash and a shout emitted from within the run down shack they stood in front of.

"Maka," Tsubaki paused and looked pain for a moment before her face softened a show a little compassion. Maka felt ill as Tsubaki continued, "Soul died before the War even began. The black blood destroyed him, remember? Otherwise, you would be with the other meisters out on the field with Black Star and me and Kid and Liz and Patty and…"

Tsubaki looked down at her standard issue boots and sighed as Maka practically sprinted away from her.

Black Star emerged from the run down shack with a frown on his lips.

"Honestly, treating a God like that. How dare he try to rip me off…Tsubaki? Are you alright?"

"…Yeah. What'd you manage to wrestle from the guy?"

"Not much. But I think it'll be grand enough for a last meal."

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><p>The fine mist in the air soaked into Maka's scarf and made it damp and scratchy as she ran home.<p>

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><p>Her steps were loud as she splashed through puddles and stamped across cobblestones and concrete. She ran up the stairs to her room two at a time and when she burst into her cozy apartment she began searching. He wasn't in the living room. He wasn't in the kitchen. She searched and searched all through the house and ran from room to room shouting his name. She shoved aside her book shelves and opened all her cupboards. She threw all her clothes out of her closet and moved her couch. By the time Maka finally gave up the fine mist outside had developed into a down pour that was thick enough to be a black soup as it spilled from the sky. The noise was deafening and Maka was left gasping in the middle of her ruined living room staring blankly at the mess she had made.<p>

Maka couldn't see anything except for grays, browns, and blacks.


End file.
